


Perfect Fit

by ryukokei



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Currently fluff, G1-IDW ish?, M/M, fast and loose with the lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-04 19:53:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17904560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryukokei/pseuds/ryukokei
Summary: Got to find fun when you’re alive for so long...





	1. PF001

To be honest, he couldn’t really remember how old he was. He was one of the first, he knew that. He knew who he was and what he could do, but after that… fight…. he had gone off, spark in pain, and just laid down, wanting to forget.

And he did, for a long while. When he “woke up” he was on the streets, giving out easy grins and slipping past the bots that just gave him scowls in return. 

That’s the area where he lost time. Was it a century later? A thousand millennia? There was no answers. Every stories about the origins of the Cybertronians, include himself, always had a childish “a long time ago” beginning. So he wasn’t sure how old he was, just that he was older than everyone else he met.

He kept his secret. It was easy to do. To look like anyone, transform and meld into another form, mech easier than other bots could, it was easy to drop a form and disappear, but he kept this one. He liked this one. And he was sure the pretty black and white that had arrested him did as well, even if all he did was scowl, if he ever gave an expression.

Mister Black-and-White has impressed him enough that he decided to get a job to be near him. It had been a while since a bot got his attention, and he could feel him softening everyday to his charms and smooth demeanor.

He was the only reason why he was eager to get back from his mission and give the report. Others under him wasn’t really sure how he was able to accomplish such impossible feats, but if he said that he could do it, he got the assignment.

He always came back, whole and healthy (maybe a scuff here or blaster burn there), but despite the excellent record, the office light would be on and he would be waiting for him. Almost as good as having a lover to drive home too.

Amalgamous Prime stepped into the office, saluting sharply even as he had a playful grin on his face. “Mission successful, sir! The ‘cons won’t be using that nasty weapon in the next fight.”

Mister Black-and-White didn’t look up, but Amalgamous could see those door wings relax minutely. “Good job,” he said to his datapad, signing off on one last thing, and only then did he look up. “Go recharge. Full report can wait until morning.”

“Yes sir!” He continued to grin. “Good night sir!”

A faint sigh escaped the other, though it did have a bit of amusement to it. “Good night Jazz.”


	2. PF002

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Amalgamous contemplation

Jazz tried to make it a rule not to take on the forms of those he worked with. For one reason, bots had a habit of freaking out. He might be excellent in sneaking around silently and hiding, but he didn’t know the exact position of every bot in the Ark. It was pretty bad if Hound came face to face with himself. And most of the soldiers don’t run away screaming or faint.

Most of the soldiers took aim. And lots of them had good aim.

So he gave himself a rule not to do that.

Sure, he was old. But the weapons are new and strong and hurt like slag! He could still be killed by weapons!

He never really had that rule with the cons. It was his job to know where all of those bots were on the Nemesis, after all, and if Megatron had something stewing, it was much easier to walk into a lesser used room as one of his soldiers, hack into the network, and delete the plans. Or just walk straight up to the device as Motormaster and destroy it that way.

Once in a while, he’d feel guilty about assuming the form about some of the bots. He never took on the form of Breakdown, the fear from that poor mech broke his spark. But Motormaster, he had no qualms about. Megatron wasn’t as stupid as to permanently harm one of his more powerful soldiers, and a member of a gestalt, and the mech was down right sadistic to his own team that getting a taste of his own medicine served him right.

He only broke his rule in the most dire of circumstances. Not to cover for a fellow soldier. If Warpath was late for his shift, that was on his own head.

No, he would watch Optimus fall from a shot from Megatron’s cannon, falling away from his soldiers, and in the next moment Jazz surged forward with the face and form of the other Prime, hole smoking in his chest, charging to Megatron with his hand as an ax, Optimus’s deep roar echoing around him.

Now that had scared the ‘Cons fairly well. Watching Optimus going down with a serious wound only to immediately charge back at them was sure startling. Megatron shouted for a retreat and the ‘Cons fled as quick as their wheels or thrusters would take them.

When he was sure that they were leaving, he would go back down to the other, form flowing from Optimus back to Jazz, doing a quick bit of field repairs as he pinged Ratchet to come get them if he wasn’t too busy. Jazz had the strength to carry Optimus back, he just didn’t really have the height to do so without dragging the poor mech’s pedes through the mud and grass.

And if Optimus woke up muttering something about watching himself attack Megatron, no one would think much of it. After all, all of them had some rather bad dreams after a painful injury in battle.


End file.
